


The Fire's a Little Colder

by amooniesong



Series: MCYT Advent Calendar Prompts 2020 [22]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Stockings, Domestic, Dream and Tubbo are there, Family, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Gen, Kid Fic, MCYT Advent Calendar Prompts (Video Blogging RPF), One Shot, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:55:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28225719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amooniesong/pseuds/amooniesong
Summary: Christmas eve was always a wonderful, magical time of year for the ragtag family that Phil had pulled together, and this year was set to be no different. It was the first year that Technoblade wouldn’t be believing in Father Christmas for, but he’d been sworn to secrecy and forbidden to ruin the fun of his little brother and Tubbo. It might not mean much to him now that he knew better, but the six year old boys were still excited beyond their wildest dreams, still enchanted by the tales of a man that visited every boy and girl in the realm to give them a gift while they slept.-----------MCYT Advent Calendar Prompts, Day 22: Stockings by the Fire
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: MCYT Advent Calendar Prompts 2020 [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018129
Comments: 12
Kudos: 240
Collections: MCYT Advent Calendar Prompts 2020





	The Fire's a Little Colder

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Very Odd Family, Indeed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27569152) by [opheliabloo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/opheliabloo/pseuds/opheliabloo). 



> for this fic in the au, tubbo & tommy are both 6, technoblade & dream are both 11, & wilbur is 14. dadza is still unspecified dadza age.

Christmas eve was always a wonderful, magical time of year for the ragtag family that Phil had pulled together, and this year was set to be no different. It was the first year that Technoblade wouldn’t be believing in Father Christmas for, but he’d been sworn to secrecy and forbidden to ruin the fun of his little brother and Tubbo. It might not mean much to him now that he knew better, but the six year old boys were still excited beyond their wildest dreams, still enchanted by the tales of a man that visited every boy and girl in the realm to give them a gift while they slept. Phil had asked Technoblade if Dream still believed, and when he found out that he did he made sure to have an extra present put aside for the boy. He’d become part of the family over the years, whether he liked it or not, and Phil always delighted in putting a present under the tree for him. It was hard to see with the mask covering his face, but he was certain that his eyes always lit up and a smile always spread across his cheeks whenever he opened them.

“Dad?” Wilbur’s voice sounded concerned, and the father looked up from his book to offer his oldest son a smile.

“Everything alright?”

“Are you okay?” 

Phil blinked. That wasn’t the question he’d expected from Wilbur, and he nodded slowly. He felt okay, was he not supposed to feel okay?

“Tommy asked you for a snack, you didn’t say anything, it was like you were just phased out entirely.” 

“Oh.” Phil said, blinking again. As he looked to the window beside him, he noted that it seemed darker outside than he remembered it being. “I’m fine, I should start on dinner, it’s getting late. Tommy can have some fruit.”

He pushed his chair out a little and moved to get to his feet, but the second he did his legs buckled at his knees and he felt his body collapse. Without a moment to reach out and steady himself, he wound up falling into Wilbur’s arms, and his son lowered him to the ground with wide, frightened eyes.

“Dad?!” He asked. “What’s wrong?!”

“S’nothing, kid.” Phil said, blinking again. The corners of his vision had gone dark and everything else felt blurry, but Wilbur didn’t need to know that. “Probably just overworked myself. I just need a minute.”

“Dad?” Technoblade’s voice joined, and he felt a little concerned that he hadn’t even  _ heard  _ his middle child walk into the room. “Wil, what’s happening? Is dad okay?”

“He didn’t hear Tommy asking for a snack, and when I asked if he was okay he said he was fine then fell over.” Wilbur’s voice was panicked, and Phil wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold his son close to reassure him, but he wasn’t sure his clammy hands would do anything of the sort. “Help me take him to the sofa? He needs to rest, but I don’t think we’ll get him upstairs.”

The next thing he knew, he was being manhandled by his boys, with Wilbur holding his arms and Technoblade holding his ankles as they carried him through into the living room. Technoblade counted to three and they lifted him high enough to slip him onto the sofa, and after a moment he felt a cushion being pushed behind his head and more words being muttered around him that he didn’t quite catch wind of. A few seconds - or minutes - later, a cup was brought to his lips and he drank from it obediently, feeling a wet towel being placed on his forehead and a thick blanket tucked around his body. He knew he wasn’t particularly lucid, but he still managed a smile and a few words.

“Thanks, boys.” He whispered, missing the nervous glances they gave each other as he slipped into sleep.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, before Technoblade looked up to his older brother and took in a breath.

“Is he--”

“He’s gonna be just fine.” Wilbur said. “He’s probably just got a flu or a bad cold, he just needs to rest.” His stomach churned as he spoke, and he had a horrible feeling that the words were to convince himself as much as they were to convince Technoblade. “C’mon, you can take Tommy his snack and I’ll make dinner. If we have chicken soup then dad can have some when he wakes up, too. It’ll make him feel better faster.”

Technoblade nodded, not wanting to argue, and he trotted into the kitchen to find something for Tommy to eat. Settling on a cookie, and taking one for himself too, Technoblade left Wilbur to make dinner while he went to see Tommy. He had a feeling that the best thing he could do right now was keep Tommy out of the living room. Seeing his father on the floor and delirious, with glazed over eyes and a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, had been absolutely terrifying. He might be a piglin, he might be a child that had come from the depths of the underworld, but seeing his father so weak and ill was a sight he wasn’t going to forget in a hurry.

Tommy didn’t need to see that.

He knocked on his younger brother’s door, opening it to see the boy standing at his window, peering out as he waited for Tubbo to arrive with Dream.

“I got you a cookie.” Technoblade said, gaining little Tommy’s attention and bringing a smile to the youngest boy’s face.

“When will Tubbo and Dream get here?” He asked, walking over to take the cookie from Technoblade. Rather than antagonising his brother as usual, Technoblade just let him take the treat and perched himself on the end of Tommy’s bed.

“I dunno.” He shrugged. He hoped it wouldn’t be soon - he wanted Phil to have a few hours to rest before anyone else joined the family. “Wil’s making dinner.”

“Aww!” Tommy moaned, biting into his cookie and continuing to speak with his mouth full - Technoblade didn’t have the heart to reprimand him for it. “I don’t like Wilbur’s cooking. Why isn’t dad making dinner?”

“He’s sick.” Technoblade said truthfully. Tommy would  _ probably  _ see Phil at less than his best sooner or later, he might as well at least be prepared for it. “He’s having a nap, Wilbur’s making chicken soup because he thinks it’ll make dad feel better.”

“Oh!” Tommy jumped to his feet, finishing the rest of his cookie quickly and starting to search his bedroom. “I know how to make dad feel better!” His hands started to fill with a collection of soft things - his blanket, the plushie Dream had made him, and his favourite pillow. “Whenever I’m poorly, dad gives me cuddles.” Tommy explained, struggling to carry everything in his arms. “So I’m gonna give him everything that makes me feel better and give him some cuddles too!”

“You won’t listen if I say no, will you.” Technoblade stated, watching as his stubborn little brother shook his head and continued to march towards the staircase. 

“Nope!” He replied brightly, and Technoblade just sighed. He took the blanket from Tommy, not wanting him to fall down the stairs while their father was already ill. Without his wings, it would be difficult to walk the several miles between their home and the village to seek medical attention if Tommy was badly hurt. It wasn’t worth the risk. 

His mind went back to his father, and he wondered if  _ he  _ needed medical attention.

No. He’d be fine. Wilbur was right, it was just a cold, everything would be okay after a nap, some chicken soup, and some cuddles… Right?

He had to trust that was the case, anyway. At least until Dream and Tubbo arrived. If their father needed any more care then, he and Dream could go to the village together. It would be safer to travel as a pair. 

Tommy pushed past Technoblade on the stairs and ran quickly into the living room, and Technoblade half expected the boy to start shouting. He was loud at the best of times and given how excited he’d been for Christmas, he wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d forgotten that Phil was taking a nap. But, somehow, he did, and rather than waking Phil up, Tommy seemed perfectly content with tucking his plushie beside his father’s head and clambering on top of him as gently as possible, resting his cushion on Phil’s chest and his head on the cushion. When Technoblade arrived, he layered the blanket on top of his brother and father and gave Tommy a smile.

“Excellent.” He said. “I’m sure dad’ll be back to normal when he wakes up now, this is the  _ best  _ medicine.”

After seeing Tommy’s reassured expression, he turned to look at Phil and moved the wet towel from his forehead, noting how much warmer it was now. He didn’t like how pale his father looked - almost as if he was more pale than before - and Technoblade could see dark bags under his eyes. Was he worrying too much, or not enough? 

Not many things scared Technoblade, but this did. When he went into the kitchen to find a fresh towel for Phil’s forehead he saw Wilbur stirring a pot with a blank expression on his face, as if he was trying  _ not  _ to process what was going on.

“Do you think--”

“He’ll be fine.” Wilbur said. “When I’ve made dinner we’ll wake him up, and everything will be okay. Okay?”

“Okay.” Was all he said, before going back into the living room and placing the new cloth carefully on his father’s forehead. He stood and looked at Phil for a moment after, then tucked a strand of hair behind his ear before sitting himself on the ground beside the sofa and letting his head lean back to rest against his father’s. It was a tiny bit of contact, but it was all the comfort he could find with Tommy lying on his chest and Wilbur busy in the kitchen.

And if he closed his own eyes, too, then that was nobody’s business but his own.

When he awoke, it was to a shuffling of plates and bowls and the smell of chicken soup, and the sounds of feet scuffling against the floor. Upon opening his eyes he saw that Dream and Tubbo had arrived, and that Wilbur was giving them bowls of soup and hunks of bread.

“Wilbur?” Technoblade asked, and his brother looked at him.

“You can wake dad up now.” He said. “And Tommy. Dinner’s ready.”

Technoblade didn’t question Wilbur as he left to fetch more food, simply waking up his father and brother as instructed. Tommy seemed immediately happy to see Tubbo and was easily distracted, going to sit beside him and talk quietly about their excitement for Christmas. Phil took a little more waking up, needing a stronger shake that Tommy had done. But he  _ did  _ wake up, and despite how pale and clammy he was, he sat up too . When Wilbur came back in with bowls of soup, he ate, and he complimented his oldest on his cooking abilities even though his throat was sore and his voice was hoarse. 

It had been a long time since Technoblade had cuddled close to his father on the sofa, but the little piglin couldn’t bear being apart with his anxiety running wild in his stomach. Being near to him helped it to settle enough to eat his dinner.

Both Wilbur and Technoblade had been ready to catch their father again if he fell when he got to his feet, announcing that Tommy and Tubbo needed to go to bed early - and that the other boys would have to do the same soon - just to make sure that Father Christmas still came.

Thankfully, he hadn’t fallen. He was a little unsteady on his feet, but he made it upstairs with the two youngest. 

Still, after Tommy and Tubbo were tucked up and sleeping, he went to his own bed rather than return to place presents under the tree or to tell Wilbur, Technoblade or Dream to go to bed. It concerned Wilbur greatly, but he encouraged Technoblade and Dream to go upstairs and get ready for bed, promising that he would deal with the dishes and be up soon. 

Once he was certain he was alone, he made his way to the spot he knew his father had hidden the presents labelled from Father Christmas and carried them quietly to place them under the tree. If Phil was too ill to be Father Christmas, well,  _ someone  _ had to be. After the first trip, he made a second, this time picking all the little goodies that fit into the hand knitted stockings their father had made them. Five hung by the fire, and Wilbur looked through each little package to make sure they ended up in the right stocking. He shook every present that was for him - too curious not to - and he remembered to remove the coal that he and Technoblade had slipped into Tommy’s stocking as a joke several days ago. It would’ve been funny, but with Phil already feeling sick he didn’t want to do anything that would ruin Christmas day itself. Even just one little hiccup felt like too much for the boy to deal with. 

The last thing that Wilbur did before heading upstairs to join his brothers and their friends was put out the fire, and he found the darkness of the living room so late at night lonely and cold. 

He hoped, in the morning, that his father would be better. But the look in his eyes when he’d walked upstairs told him that there might be something going unsaid and something more afoot. For now, he’d forget about it, he’d enjoy Christmas, but as soon as everything was over he was going to ask his father more about it. He wouldn’t let him become any sicker if he could help it.

**Author's Note:**

> now, phil's illness is very ambiguous & can absolutely be read as just a bad case of the flu, but i had to admit i wrote it based around the fucking phenomonal wither effect that my friend ophelia came up with in ["a very odd family, indeed"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27569152/chapters/67436092) \- the fic itself is fab & the withering effect with the dormant pockets of poison... UGH, so freaking good!!! (no i will never shut up about it), so please, go read if you haven't already! if you've read my stuff you know how brutal of an author i am, & it made ME cry.
> 
> \-------- 
> 
> thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed! if you'd like to take part in the mcyt advent calendar prompts feel free to join in, you can find the prompt list on my [twitter](https://twitter.com/amooniesong/status/1331702805934043137) (feel free to drop a follow, too!) i also have a [discord server](https://discord.gg/9y9BF7SMKc) if you'd like to join :)
> 
> please do drop a comment or kudos, always makes my day!


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